


Made To Suffer

by thranarwhal



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Middle Earth, and barduil trash in the middle, its really just a pile of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thranarwhal/pseuds/thranarwhal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after botfa, Bard visits Thranduil to hopefully escape the weight of being king and reconnect with his love. But he never planned on catching an illness, and it's something neither of them are prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made To Suffer

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there barduil shippers! This is my first time participating in an event like the barduil big bang, and I'm nervous and hope I delivered. It's also my first fic I've ever written past 8k, so excuse the choppy scenes and awkwardnessss. I couldn't have done this without my friends giving me gentle nudges to finish writing, my amazing artist Ryan who inspired a scene in my fic, and my wonderful beta Amy!  
> Also, I had the headcanon that Bard and Thranduil met a few years before botfa, and that is really the only purpose of the prologue.

~ Prologue ~

Food rations had gone especially hard this year. The master had been reluctant to trade gold with his neighbors, despite knowing how desperately the town needed the food in order to survive. And because of that, the little food they had was have is given right to the master, with the crumbs spared for all the rest of Laketown.   
Bard had enough of his crap. He knew the master was a poor excuse for a leader, and had told him so to his face many times in the past. But with the future getting darker, and three 3 little ones to worry about, he stopped irking the master and did what he needed to support his family.   
Which led him to the outskirts of the Mirkwood forest. He never ventured too far in the forest when he came to collect the barrels, always keeping the shoreline in sight. But times were desperate, and he needed food.   
With a deep breath and alert senses alerted, Bard set off into Mirkwood forest. With Facing trees taller than any building in Laketown, vines as wide as the Rhun, and darkness more suffocating than the sea being submerged in water, Bard trudged on, for endless hours, failing time after time to successfully capture his game. He had caught trail of three 3 rabbits and one deer, but with no luck.  
Mirkwood had a funny way of seeming timeless, Bard thought. To him, he felt as though he started hunting only a few minutes ago. But he knew from experience it had been hours since he had set out for food. But the looming trees above him covered the sky, and made it virtually impossible to see through to the sunlight. He had no way of knowing his direction, or the time of day without it.   
After roaming the forest for a few hours, and stepping past through countless bogs and under branches, Bard felt lured toward a direction to a path on his left. He couldn't explain it, but it was as if an unknown force was pulling him. that way. And to make it worse, he felt a desire to go that way he couldn't explain. It was as if his body was under a spell.   
Continuing left in the dark and gloomy dooming forest, Bard came upon a sight he would have never guessed he’d find would have found in something in a place as depressing as Mirkwood forest. A perfect circle of exceptionally tall trees , taller than the rest, covering a meadow of sorts area, where this a plain of green grass spread within it throughout the circle. A small creek with rocks ran through the middle, water rushing over the rocks in a lethargic walk.  
The trees that made up the perfect circle were disconnected in the center, making allowing a smaller ring circle of light to peeking through the canopy of the trees. Bard could finally see the sun through the trees opening, and saw the most beautiful sunset he had ever laid his eyes on. The leaves from the tops of the trees rustled in vibrant reds and pinks, and the mountains in the distance were hazed lavender, as if the whole world was under a fog of color.   
But despite the beauty of the clearing, it was not what caught his attention most aptly.  
There, in the center of the opening, stood a lone elf. But not just any elf.   
Bard had seen elves before. Very few, but he had seen a chestnut-haired ambassador at Laketown once, long ago, and two had seen 2 charcoal-haired scouts patrolling the border of the forest. But still, never had he seen an elf like this before.   
This elf, who Bard thought was most assuredly male, which he finds out truth to be later, stood with his back to him. His waist length white blonde hair fell without a tangle or disturbance down his tall back, across broad shoulders that seemed to have seen many hardships in its course. The elf was wearing a white overcoat of pure crystals, crushed and sparkling across the expanse of the coat, with dark blue leggings and soft grey knee boots.   
Bard stood aghast by the image before him. He had not even seen the front of the elf and he was already enamored. The elf was standing such that the setting sun shining sunset light coming in from the circle opening of the trees pooled about his frame. His coloring was such that the light from the sunset illuminated his white complexion and hair, casting a godly brightness about him. The red hue of the sunset did not touch him;, it wouldn't dare. Instead it created a frame around the ethereal being, accenting the contrast of the colors between the two brings. And while they sharply juxtaposed each other, they were in harmony with each other as well. It seemed as though nature favored both, and because of it they both benefited from the contrast.   
Bard thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in his whole life. That was until the elf turned and watched Bard from the circle of light.   
The way he turned was so full of grace it made Bard feel as an oliphaunt, large and horribly uncoordinated. He first saw the hair shifting like silk, moving across the shoulders as his face came into view. The most perfect unblemished skin Bard had ever seen was shaped around displayed by a sharp jawline that could cut wood, eyes bluer than any water Bard had ever seen, twinkling in greenish and excitement, eyebrows thick and dark, stark against his pale complexion, and a stature fit for royalty.   
And his body only accentuated it all. Long pale limbs, with the waist coat of crystals falling open over dark blue leggings that went on forever, with the grey boots reaching over the knee in a point. It all exuded beauty and grace, and the pale lips of the elf was quirked into a smirk as he watched Bard.   
"You may continue to drool, hunter. It is not a new occurrence for someone like me." The elf spoke with the deepest baritone Bard had heard witnessed in his life, and in some elvish way it made sense to have such a deep voice flowing like honey.   
Quickly Bard wiped at his mouth, only to 1) realize how childish of an act it was and 2) that there was no drool. Heat bloomed into his face as he witnessed the elf laughing heartily at his attempts of salvaging to salvage his reputation.   
Yet Bard was not so easily tempted. "Do not mock me so. It is not everyday day I see beauty reach a new level,." Bard said before he could think of the words, and he flushed further.   
It was then the elf's turn to flush. "Do you tell all beings you come across such things?"  
"I rarely see such beauty that warrants that kind of response,." Bard said smugly.   
The elf blushed further but smiled as well, walking and walked towards the bowman with slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He finally stopped a breath’s distance from Bard, and it was close enough for him to see the depths of the blues in his eyes.   
"You think me pretty, bowman," the elf said, inclining his head toward the bow strapped to the young man's back. "But I can assure you, it isn't all pretty."  
"I doubt that is true."  
"Kind words." The elf mused. "But you and I both have seen life's perils. You must agree that some ugly has found its course in there somewhere."  
Bard meets his piercing gaze. "Perhaps, but it has left you unscathed on the surface. But," Bard adds daringly, knowing he might have been crossing a line, "I'd be willing to show that you are beautiful despite your endeavors, if you would allow it."  
He held his breath as the elf's gaze turned from playful to astonished with his words. The emotions that went through his those eyes ranged from confusion to admiration, as his expression opened.  
"I allow it,My allowing is granted bowman. Perhaps you may be able to teach an old elf the good of the world again." The elf raised said, raising a hand to brush his knuckles along Bard's cheek into his hair, feeling the warmth of stubble and the surprisingly soft hair behind. "But for now you must go., I am due back to my people."  
Bard grabbed the hand laying idly in his hair, bringing it to him and kissing the pale fingers on the satin like skin. "When will I see you again?"  
"Soon."  
"But how do I know when to meet you, and where?" Bard asked confused. He did not want to leave the elf, but if Bard understood he needed to be with his people, Bard could understand that.   
The elf smirked, and with that question in mind he leaned forward and brushed his ruby lips against the thin warm ones of Bard. It was not much more than a lingering peck, but it was enough for Bard's eyes to slip closed and a tiny sigh to escape his lips. The smell of fresh water and vanilla overwhelmed him, and he breathed the elf's scent in greedily even as they were parting.   
The elf's eyes were bright with excitement, endearment, and a little bit of mischeviousness. He took in the flustered flushed bowman, appreciating his frame, putting it to memory. Then he turned and began his walk back into the forest.   
Bard watched the mysterious, alluring elf walk away and could only think of the smoothness of the lips, and how wonderful it was to be filled with his scent. That was, until Bard remembered he hadn't caught the elf's name.   
"Wait! What is your name?"  
The elf turned back, glancing at Bard, then asked, "Tell me yours and you shall know mine."  
"Bard."  
"Thranduil."   
And with that, Bard was left in the clearing with the sun steadily dropping, smirking because he knew he would meet Thranduil again.

~

"THRANDUIL OROPHERION YOU ARE SUCH AN ASSHOLE!"  
Said elf was trying to contain his mirth quite unsuccessfully off to the side of the creek, but when his lover came out of the water looking like a drowned cat, hair plastered to his face and water running off him in rivulets, Thranduil lost it.   
He doubled over, cackling like a hyena, oblivious to the Bowman’s deadly gaze.   
Bard tried to stay angry at Thranduil for pushing him into the creek on a cold, early winter day, but the sight of the Elven King laughing so unceremoniously was hard to pass up. He begrudgingly smiled as well, watching his lover double over and cradle his stomach in agonized amusement.   
After some of the tears had cleared up, Thranduil met Bard's gaze again, only to see that it was much closer to him than before. With the realization dawning on him, Thranduil backed away hastily.   
"Meleth no, do NOT hug me!"  
Despite the warning, Bard continued to advance until Thranduil’s back collided with a tree, and Bard saw his opportunity. He lunged forward, wrapping both wet arms around Thranduil’s form and pressed their chests together as tightly as he could, feeling the water from his body seep into the other’s warm skin.   
"BARD!" Outraged, Thranduil huffed and made halfhearted attempts to shake off his lover, but it only made Bard hug tighter. With a resigned sigh, he stood motionless against the tree and thought of a plan.   
"Bard, if you do not let go of me, you'll sleep on the couch for the rest of your visit."  
Thranduil thought that would shake Bard off, only to feel wet, open mouthed kisses fall on his pale neck, and despite how much Thranduil wanted to resist, he leaned into the touch and tilted his head back for better access.   
Bard rumbled, mouthing at his neck, and laughed at the elf's actions.   
"Something tells me the great Elven King, known for his frost and malice, has just made an empty threat to a lowly bargeman," Bard said smugly, pulling back to look into those blues only to see them darken in challenge.   
"You are no lowly bargeman," Thranduil all but snarled, lunging forward and capturing Bard's lips. They were hungry in their search, biting and moving firm against his pliant lips. On a particularly hard bite, Bard gasped, and Thranduil snaked his tongue in. The heat from Thranduil’s mouth, and the slick of his tongue as it plundered his own hot mouth left Bard breathless and dazed, never growing tired of how well Thranduil kissed, or how he always showed his love to Bard despite his arrogant façade. It always left him extremely aroused.   
After a couple minutes of sharing heated as well as tender kisses, Thranduil smirked and pulled away from Bard and started to walk back to the center of the clearing.   
Bard sighed at the loss but growled when he saw the elf’s retreating form. How dare he walk away, after getting Bard all hot and bothered!  
With an undignified roar he tackled Thranduil, trapping him on the ground beneath him. Then he proceeded to show Thranduil why you never walk away from a hot and bothered Bard. 

~

A while later, Bard was laying with his back on the green grass, gazing up into the circle of red leaves and watching the sun fall in its course. He felt peaceful, especially with the warm Elven body flush against him, head on chest, arm and leg thrown over him possessively. Bard toyed with the silken locks while he considered himself blessed to have such an amazing lover. Kind and caring, Thranduil was also everything people criticized him for. He wholeheartedly accepted Bard's love and was unfathomably affectionate towards his children. Bard was a lucky man to have caught the elusive Elven King's heart.   
Bard knew Thranduil had a habit of becoming restless around him, always wanting to be moving. But it had been some time since they had lain in the grass, and Thranduil had not moved his head once from his chest.  
“Are you listening for my heartbeat?” Bard asked jokingly.  
“No” came the denial.  
“Liar.”  
Unbeknownst to Bard, Thranduil truthfully was listening for it. It became a habit for him to do so when they lied together. It was a constant worry for him with having a mortal lover, never knowing what day would be your last. He took every moment to memorizing everything he could about Bard. All the way down to the heartbeat.   
A strong gust of wind blew by, forcing cold air towards Bard at a fast pace, causing him to shiver. From the combined plunge into the river and their extraneous activities, Bard was still wet, and the air made it seem as if the water had frozen into tiny icicles all over. He shivered again, and Thranduil rose, seeing him uncomfortable.   
"Come, let us return to the kingdom. The temperature is steadily dropping, and you are in need of a change of clothes meleth nin," Thranduil said, extending his hand to Bard and pulling him to his feet.   
"Whose fault was that?" Bard asked smugly, still shivering.   
"Must have been an unseen force. I will look into it as we return." Thranduil replied with a huge grin.   
Bard bumped into him purposefully, causing him to stumble. He laughed at Thranduil’s mussed hair and befuddled expression. But Bard smiled while watching his dragonslayer run away, and gave him a little chase back to the Kingdom.

~

They reached Mirkwood before dusk was upon them, and it required Thranduil to be present as King to his court. While Thranduil was holding meetings with his advisors, Bard returned to the Elven King's chambers. Privately, he was nursing a killer headache, and the shivers would not go away.   
He entered Thranduil's vast chambers and swiftly turned to the sitting room, where the plush sofa was sitting near a fireplace. The thought of a soft seat and warm fire was enough for Bard to move the sofa right in front of the fireplace, despite the ache of his muscles.   
He added some wood to the ornate fireplace and sat amongst the many pillows. He found Thranduil’s fleece throw and shrugged it across his body. Propping his feet upon the pillow, he shut his eyes and sighed loudly into the empty room.   
Bard hated showing his weaknesses to Thranduil. Or to anyone, for that matter. Being a single father of three had taught him to hold his tongue when discomforted, and this was no different.   
His body was wracked with more shivers, and he used the furs draped across the back of the couch to cover his legs so nothing was exposed. He tried unsuccessfully to warm up, yet the pounding in his head grew with every breath. Bard groaned when he realized what was happening. He was catching a cold. Right in the middle of his trip with Thranduil. It put him in an extremely sour mood.   
Bard wasn't sure how much time had passed since he had crawled on the couch, but it seemed as though immediately the large wooden door was creaking open, and the Thranduil came peeking in.   
"It is quite hot in here, even for an elf," Thranduil remarked, seeing the large flames leap in reds and yellows up the furnace.   
Bard looked to Thranduil, seeing the Elven King still and not his lover. He was dressed in his formal robes and his crown, and while Bard normally would entice him for some role play, he could only grace his lover with a weak smile.   
Knowing this, Thranduil frowned. Bard was the type to take advantage of every situation, yet he appeared to be drained of energy. Not to mention the furs and shrug, and the heat, which was substantial for an elf to detect.  
Thranduil crossed the room to the sofa and combed his long fingers through Bard's hair, noting the heat coming off him and the slight sweat on his skin.   
The concern must have been written all over Thranduil's face, for Bard broke the silence.   
"I am fine, Thranduil. I am merely weary and wished for warmth to relax by." It was not a complete lie; the warmth did soothe his shivers but it did nothing to help his body aching and his headache.   
Apparently it did not convince Thranduil. "You look awful, for lack of better words meleth."  
"Gee thanks, love you too." Bard pouted, but it only earned him a light peck to the cheek.   
"Do not play coy with me. Why did you not tell me you were feeling bad?" Thranduil asked, getting up to grab another blanket from the end of his bed.   
"Because I did not want to worry you. A minor cold like this will be gone by the morning, and the day after you won't even know it was there," Bard said.   
Thranduil looked doubtful. But in the end he did have some basic knowledge of human illness, and he knew some common colds could come and go very easily with minimal discomfort. And it looked to be the case.   
"Fine. I believe you. But until you show no signs of illness, you will let me indulge you."  
"Thran no-" Bard protested, but it was no use. Thranduil was already walking around his rooms, collecting warm night shirts, starting to fill his bath with hot water, and calling a servant to bring warm tea.   
With a resigned sigh, Bard recognized it was no use trying to argue with Thranduil. He became protective over his loved ones, fiercely so, and in this instance there were few things he could do to help Bard feel better. So he was going to do them all.   
Once the tea came, Bard drank it, finding the herbs either mild or strongly sweetened, because it was much better than he had anticipated. Then he was corralled into the chamber pot where warm water and a helping hand guided him through his bath. Thranduil insisted on helping Bard with everything, sponging him over with warm water and running the soap over him. He tilted Bard's head into a bucket off the back of the tub and washed his hair thoroughly.   
The long pale fingers massaged his scalp, wringing soap and water from his hair but also caressing his temples and forehead. Bard groaned; it felt delightful to feel the strong fingers smoothing awaythe headache he’d had all day.   
Looking up at the caring elf, Bard was overwhelmed with affection.   
"I love you," Bard said, voice thick with emotion.   
Thranduil leaned down and kissed him. "And I you. We are soon done, then you can sleep off this cold."  
After finishing, Thranduil wrapped his body in fluffy towels and dried him off, putting him in one of the elf’s large, woolen shirts so it would keep Bard warmer than his own. Then he put Bard to bed, bringing furs and blankets and pillows and making sure Bard had everything he needed. Then he went to build up the fire again in the sitting room.  
Bard looked on with a fond smile, Recalling that Thranduil had acted similarly when Sigrid caught a cold.   
"Thran I'm good," Bard said. He honestly was – the massage had eased his headache and now all he felt like doing was sleeping.   
Thranduil donned his own night shirt and climbed in next to Bard, proceeding to snuggle as close as he could, but only grabbing half of Bard and half the blankets.   
Thranduil growled. "You must get better, Bard. I do not approve of this sleeping arrangement."  
Bard laughed at the ridiculousness of his lover but pulled an arm out of his warm cocoon to wrap around Thranduil’s shoulders and pull him closer. Thranduil purred as he ran his fingers through his hair.  
"I will," Bard said knowingly. "Get some sleep, love."

~

The next day, Bard felt as though nothing happened. He woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time and ultimately thanked Thranduil for the feeling. Without the Elven King's care, he may have still felt sick, but none of it remained.  
He went through his day like normal, helping out Thranduil with some of his office work. In reality Bard was more of a distraction, but Thranduil didn't seem to mind. Then he visited the archery grounds with the other bowmen, and they practiced for hours. This was one of Bard's favorite things to do in Mirkwood. Back in Laketown, and even Dale, the archers were not nearly as competent as Bard was, but the elves were a great match for him to test his ability. He even beat them on the occasion.  
But being out in the wintry weather, working hard and sweating in the cold was not something Bard had really thought through, and he felt shivers coming back. As soon as he noticed, he headed inside and drew a hot bath. The steam that rose off the bubbles warmed him instantly, and he got out and dried when the water grew cold.  
He later joined Thranduil in the great hall for dinner, sitting at the high table with the Elven King and most of his advisers, and a few other nobles and friends. Dinner was served, but throughout it, Bard felt his stomach rolling with every bite he took. He tried all there was, the pork, salads, fruits and all, but after one bite of each, his stomach turned. By the end of the main course, Bard had put his fork down and sat without having more than a few bites.  
Thranduil noticed. Occasionally he would look to Bard catching sight of his slightly more withdrawn state, his pale face, and lack of food consumption. He frowned.  
"Bard, do you feel ill again?" Thranduil asked.  
Bard graced him with a weak smile. "I admit that the food is not enticing me this night. But otherwise I am fine. I merely lost my appetite."  
Nodding, but fixing Bard with a knowing look that said I don't necessarily believe you, Thranduil turned back to his advisers and continued discussing the Kingdom's management.  
Bard tried to keep his cool, but the twisting in his stomach turned into full-on pain as the night extended. Even after almost another hour of sitting at the table, with the wine was steadily flowing, Bard felt horrible. He had begun to sweat again, and his face was extremely pale.  
The last thing he wanted was to do was to make a scene, but he felt so uncomfortable all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and sleep. After seeing Bard shift in his seat for what was the umpteenth time that dinner, Thranduil came to the same conclusion. He had been watching Bard out of the corner of his eye and felt sorry for that fact that he was the ruler in his realm and couldn't always be there for his lover. And like now, all he wanted to do was wrap Bard in a blanket and feed him some soup, but he was King. Duty came first.  
Taking pity on his lover, he leaned over and whispered, "Bard, it pains me to see you in such discomfort. If you are truly this uncomfortable, you may leave and rest. I will join you as soon as I  
can."  
The relief in Bard's face must have been evident, for Thranduil gave him a strained smile and graced him with a light peck to his cheek. He got up swiftly and left the dining hall, ignoring the curious looks he received from the other elves. It was a known stigma to not leave the dining hall early, but Thranduil had given him an exception. He couldn't have been more than grateful.  
As soon as he rounded the corner from the dining hall, the pains in his abdomen turned into cramps, stealing Bard's breath. He leaned against the stone wall and took shaky breaths to get his pain under control. A sudden familiar jolt in his stomach warned him, and he sprinted as fast as he could to the nearest place where he wouldn't be seen. That led him outside near the stables where Thranduil's elk was housed along with other horses and animals. Bard emptied his stomach into a small hole in the earth.  
The icy rain poured heavily onto Bard's back as his body betrayed him. Even after he had nothing left to vomit, he was wracked with seemingly endless dry heaves. Between the heaves, he gasped for air, but those moments of respite were few and far between. What seemed like a few minutes of hell for Bard must have been closer to an hour, because some time later he heard elvish voices yelling behind him, and strong hands pulled him upright from his crouched position. His sweaty, soaked hair was pushed from his face, and even with his eyes closed he knew it was Thranduil.  
"What in the name of the Valar are you doing out here Bard?"  
Thranduil's panicked voice cut through the ceaseless pounding of the heavy rain. "We searched endlessly when you weren't in my chambers. Why did you come out here? It is wet and cold, and you are burning up." Thranduil sounded scared. If the men in his guard noticed, they said nothing about it.  
Bard cracked an eye open, seeing Thranduil's hair plastered to his face, his blue eyes darkened in worry. He tried to tell him how he had ended up here, but all that could come out was a moan before he moved out of Thranduil's grasp and continued to dry heave off to the side.  
An audible gasp could be heard from Thranduil’s mouth as his strong hands came to rest on Bard's sides again. As soon as Bard was done, those hands lifted him up, and Thranduil carried Bard back into the Kingdom. His many guards attempted to take ahold of Bard, but the elf stormed past them with a serious look on his face. Bard tried to struggle to his feet, but he soon realized he was too weak and cold to do anything, and Thranduil was very warm. He gave in, nuzzling his face into the warm fabrics over his chest.  
They arrived at a door that Bard recognized as the healing room, and while he would have knocked, Thranduil barged into the room. The healers looked up from their work, astounded to find their king dripping rain with a murderous look in his eyes, carrying an equally wet and miserable Bard. Thankfully, the first healer recovered quickly and approached.  
"Hir nin, how can we help you? Is King Bard hurt?" he asked hesitantly.  
'Milui, he has a sickness.' Thranduil began, speaking fast and low. "Yesterday he was cold, and his headache and shivers were too numerous to count. This morning he was fine until dinner, when he was uneasily shifting, and I let him leave early, only to find him after almost an hour of searching retching near the stables."  
Milui studied Bard's form in the King's arms, and then asked for the King to put him onto his feet. He did so, maintaining a possessive hold on Bard.  
Milui looked pained. "My King, I realize you do not want to be separated from Bard at this time. But I need to examine him, and those clothes need to be changed. For all senses of decency, we will leave the room and allow you to assist him, but once you do so, I must check him alone."  
The other elves in the room were bustling away behind the scene, trying not to look as though they were paying attention. Many were fluffing out the pillows and changing the sheets on the bed for Bard, while others collected fresh clean clothes or herbs, which they lined up on various tables.  
Thranduil looked peeved. "I will not leave Bard alone." The ice in his eyes alone would have been enough to freeze Sauron alone. Milui looked ready to back off, but Bard knew that Thranduil would only be a distraction to him and the healer.  
"Thran, please. He is only doing his job." Bard said weakly. Surprised, Thranduil looked to him before he noticed how much it was wearing on Bard to wait for Thranduil to get over himself. He instantly backed off.  
"Bring me the clothes Milui, then I will leave for Bard's sake."  
Milui instantly sagged in relief, handed the clothes to Thranduil and left the room with the other attendants.  
Thranduil quickly took off Bard's clothes, sitting him on a wooden stool so he could dry him. Bard shivered at the open air on his exposed skin. Thranduil sped his ministrations, pulling the clothes over him.  
As soon as he was done, he made to leave but was stopped by a clammy hand grabbing his. He looked back and saw Bard's exhausted face. The stress of his ordeal had caused him much pain and weariness, but his eyes spoke volumes. Thranduil brought his hand to his mouth and kissed it.  
"I will be back, meleth nin." Thranduil said, and with that, he let Milui back into the room. The healer’s eyes raked over Bard's prone form, and the shiver that crawled through Bard was not from the cold. But Milui’s eyes held no malice, just profound concern.  
He told Bard to move to the bed behind him and quickly began to ask his questions.  
"King Bard, is there anything of the story my king told me that is missing?"  
"Just Bard, not even when I feel well do formalities sit well with me," Bard corrected. "I believe that was most of it, though earlier this day I went to the archery fields and practiced for a good while, before I felt cold again. I went inside after and took a warm bath. That's all."  
"You have good instincts." Milui appraised him. "When you are feeling cold, especially for humans who are easily susceptible to such things, the fastest ways to get warm are the best. Unfortunately I cannot say that about your current state, but I hope you are feeling better than before?"  
"I am." The dry clothes and warmer air inside the Kingdom helped greatly.  
Warm brown eyes met his green ones. "I figured it would help," said Milui, continuing to check over Bard. He ordered him to look up at the ceiling with just his eyes, breathe in deeply then rapidly, and swallow. Then Milui took his temperature and felt his heartbeat for irregularities.  
It all seemed rather normal to the healer, despite the temperature. It was a little high, but that was to be expected from someone who had thrown up then stayed in the rain. Also his swallowing appeared discomforted, but the acids from the retching had caused that.  
After several checks, Milui was glad Bard was not horribly sick but also rather confused.  
"It is good to see that your idea of a common cold was true. I do not see lingering effects of that ailment. However, your temperature is still high, and I would make sure you take care of yourself. Do not go outside unnecessarily, or yourself too hard. All these things can make you more susceptible to what you had previously." Then his brow furrowed. "I am not going to lie to you and say I know the cause of your retching. It baffles me, but I do not think it will happen at every meal in the future."  
Bard had clearly been caught off guard as well, but he wasn't a stranger to upset stomachs from meals.  
"Sometimes when things like this happen, humans call it food poisoning. It’s where either the food was poorly prepared, or your stomach does not agree with it, and you have to rid yourself of it somehow. It can be nasty, but it isn’t fatal."  
Milui was quiet for a moment, pondering the possibility.   
"It's good to know one of us is educated in human illnesses." Milui smiled. "I don't consider myself well versed in the mortal healing arts, but my advice still stands. You must take it easy the next few days, regardless of how you feel."  
With a nod of his head and thanks, Bard rose to his feet and headed to the door, if a little slower than usual. As soon as it opened, Thranduil’s body collided with his, and he would have staggered if not for the arm around him. He could feel the king shake and immediately felt guilty for causing him stress.  
From behind, Milui smiled at the scene, and after Thranduil calmed down, the healer told him what he had told Bard. Nodding, Thranduil steered his dragonslayer to his chambers.  
There waiting for Bard was a similar picture from the night before, fire built and inviting blankets atop a warm bed. He climbed into the nest, and it took him almost no time to fall asleep. The last thing he was aware of was a kiss to the forehead, and a hand in his hair.

~

Bard was jolted awake by a sharp pain in his chest. He sat up gasping and coughing, deep and throatily, disturbing Thranduil’s sleep as well. The King arose, rubbing circles onto his lover’s back and becoming increasingly worried that Bard had yet to cease coughing. In fact, it seemed as though they only got worse. Bard struggled for breath, gasping weakly from the lack of air.  
"Bard!" Thranduil exclaimed. Even in the dark he could see Bard's face turning blue. He started patting Bard's back to no avail. With Bard still struggling, Thranduil leapt out of the bed into the corridor where the guards were stationed and started barking orders. He quickly returned to his lover’s side, pulling Bard into a complete sitting position. The first healer came scurrying in, sitting on the bed and placing his palms on Bard's chest, murmuring in elvish. Bard's movements had ceased to minute writhing, the sick shade of his skin turning paler and paler. Yet Milui's words never ceased, and he soon discovered Bard's dilemma.  
"Hir nin," the first healer began, glancing over to Thranduil. "Bard has congested lungs and airways and will need to keep coughing in order to clear them up. Embrace him from behind and keep him upright. Tell him to keep coughing and breathing. I need to collect a towel." He scurried off the bed, finding the nearest towel and bringing it back to an enfeebled Bard.  
Thranduil quickly situated himself behind Bard, holding him firmly around the waist. "Bard, you must keep coughing!" Thranduil pleaded, feeling the mortal’s body sweat and grow weaker. Bard's eyes were wide, and Thranduil could see them round with the realization that he would soon suffocate.  
Thranduil and the healer tried endlessly to force Bard to cough, but it was too much for him. He started to weakly gasp, then not cough at all, lying limply in Thranduil's arms as he stared up at nothing.  
Dread pooled into Thranduil’s core. No, he thought, this cannot be it.  
"Bard, you must fight!" Thranduil shouted as Milui tried everything to get Bard to breathe again.  
Through this whole experience, Bard was only half conscious. He felt as if his lungs had been closed off, and every breath just got stuck and choked him more. Not to mention the pain in his chest. He could feel the blockade in his upper body, strong and defiant and unmoving. It expanded within his chest and made it feel excruciating to simply be alive.  
But a piercing scream of his name enraptured him, and he knew it was Thranduil. He felt so guilty for worrying him. He had to try, for Thranduil.  
Bard struggled out of elf’s grasp and continued to cough, and he could feel searing pain in his chest. But with Milui's chants and aid, Bard removed the phlegm stuck in his airways, and the first healer quickly wiped it away with the towel.  
Thranduil visibly sagged at the relief. Milui similarly relaxed but still had a strained look to his face.  
Bard, on the other hand, fought to stay awake, but he felt too tired to do anything other than close his eyes.  
The first healer noticed Bard's eyelids drooping. "You must stay awake,” he said. “I need to check on you."  
Bard heard the words and made to comment, but his body disobeyed him yet again.  
"Bard, you must stay awake!" Thranduil yelled, but he already felt the body sagging into his hold, the head rolling onto his shoulder.  
The Elven King panicked and started to mutter and move frantically, thinking the worst.  
"My King!" Milui shouted. "He has only passed out due to exertion. While it is not what I wanted, there's not much we can do about it. Help me lay him on the bed."  
Stricken, Thranduil moved from behind the bowman and laid him on his back. Bard was pallid and sweating on his forehead. And while Thranduil, being an elf, had never been sick, he had been poisoned before and saw the similarities.  
Milui checked Bard over, pressing against his chest and opening his mouth. After several suspenseful minutes, Milui sat back.  
Thranduil had had enough. "What ails him?" he asked coldly.  
"It seems as though the lungs are infected. The phlegm was not clear. And while that is troubling enough alone, his throat is swelling. See?" He pointed to Bard's neck, which was slightly larger than before, a darkening red stripe running down the center.  
"I'm also not positive," Milui continued, "but I firmly believe that due to his retching yesterday and his excessive coughing, inside of his throat has torn, which could lead to bleeding. While this is painful, it is not fatal if he continues to cough the blood up and not let it collect in his phalanx."  
Milui looked to the Elven King and would have laughed if the situation wasn't so morbid. The king looked sick, like the thought of this occurrence pained him as much as it did Bard. And for that, Milui was saddened. He knew that Thranduil cared far too much.  
"King Thranduil," Milui abruptly spoke up. "If his condition worsens, call for me. Other than that, I will go research on illnesses and see if I can't find a drought to ease his pain."  
And with this, the healer left, leaving Thranduil to sit alone with Bard. Thranduil took the clean half of the towel to wipe the sweat from Bard's brow. Back and forth he brought the towel over, the mechanical motion taking his mind off the real threat. But soon, the raspy breaths penetrated his thoughts, and he dropped the towel. He stared at Bard, thinking that the ashen color did not do him justice. He thought about the smile lines of Bard's face, and the glint in his green eyes when he looked at Thranduil. Or the mess of his hair that Thranduil loved to run his fingers through, or the feeling thick in his lilted voice.  
A single tear dropped down his porcelain cheek, and Thranduil did nothing to stop it.

~

The next morning found elves full of commotion around the kingdom. It found Milui in the library, searching tomes for a cure. It found Tauriel giving order to the patrols and keeping the guard underway. It found Thranduil sleeping next to Bard.  
For most of the night, the King was a statue next to the bowman. But despite his great worry, sleep finally took him.  
Around midday Milui came to the room weary and tired, not having any sleep the night before. He found Thranduil grasping on to a pale hand in a chair beside the bed. His head was lying at an awkward angle, careful not to disturb Bard, but being close as he could.  
The first healer of Mirkwood smiled sadly at the picture. Thranduil exuded sadness, and Bard sickness. Milui frowned, and walked closer to the other side of Bard, and looked closer. The face was peaceful in sleep, but the first healer could feel the heat radiating off him. He discreetly took Bard's temperature, and his suspicions were confirmed. The man was running a high fever. And to make things worse, the swelling in his neck did not seem to be going down.  
Thranduil awoke to his movements. He sat up, his silver hair creased, eyes bloodshot.  
"How is he?" Thranduil asked softly.  
Milui sighed. "It is not as we hoped. His swelling did not go down, and he runs a high fever. I was not able to find a description of this ailment, but I've created a drought meant to control fevers for humans. I'd like to try it, but he should be awake for it."  
"I will wake him. Go and collect the drought."  
"Yes, my Lord." Milui left the room.  
Thranduil shook Bard’s sleeping form. It roused the man from unconsciousness, but the suddenness caused his breathing to falter. He sputtered and would have caught his breath if not for the rush of blood to his mouth. He made a beeline for the chamber pot.  
"Bard!" Thranduil followed the dragonslayer to the bowl, where Bard was coughing up thick, dark blood into the clear water in the bowl.  
After he cleared his throat, Bard sat back against the stone, sighing against the coolness of it. His body felt on fire, everything ached, his hearing was muffled because of the ringing pain, his throat was sore, and his head was spinning. He felt as though he was going to die.  
Catching his breath, he looked at Thranduil. The elf was in a horrible state. Hair snarled, clothes old and wrinkled, eyes tired. And the concern that Bard hated to see was plastered all over his beautiful face.  
"You don't have to worry about me," Bard said weakly.  
"I do." Thranduil countered. He reached a hand to Bard, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. Bard could feel him trembling against his skin.  
"What happened?" Bard muttered.  
"You fell unconscious after you almost stopped breathing." Thranduil had to stop himself from saying any more. He couldn't keep the emotions back, and he knew Bard didn't need his pain added to his own.  
"I'm still here Thranduil," Bard replied passively.  
Sad blue eyes met his, but they bordered on anger. "Will you? Will you always be here?"  
Bard couldn’t meet his eyes. He hacked out little spots of blood onto his hand. Not enough to need the bowl, but enough to get the message clear.

~

While mixing the drought for Bard, Milui sent for a messenger.  
His findings, or lack thereof, bothered him, and he had high suspicions that this illness would end badly. A long recovery, permanent damage, death... No, he couldn't think like that. But he had seen from the first night Bard had been ill that it affected the Elven King greatly. He knew what must be done.  
With the letter signed by him and Tauriel, who also agreed this was the best course of action, the messenger set off to Lothlorien. Milui hoped the response came in time.

~

The first healer returned with tea to find Thranduil on the couch and Bard shivering beside him.  
"My King. I have the fever reducing tea. He must take this, every hour, no matter what. The herbs will hopefully fight this infection fast."  
"Thank you for your work, Milui," Thranduil said honestly, and it shocked the first healer. Never had he expected to be praised by his lord, who was not one to give it freely.  
Bowing deeply, Milui made his way out.  
Sudden groans and movements alerted the king. So busy was he in his own thoughts, he barely noticed Bard slipping from his grasp and shakily returning from the chamber pot.  
"Bard!" Thranduil made to get up, but the other waved him off. If this was something Bard needed to do on his own, Thranduil would let him. But only for so long.

~

Thranduil could hear muffled groans, and knew in light of recent events that he needed to see for himself if Bard was managing.  
In the bathroom, Bard was standing unsteadily against the wall, holding himself over the toilet. But the perspiration over his forehead and pained expression told Thranduil that Bard was not alright. Thranduil laid a hand at his hip and another against the small of his back to support him.  
Bard glanced toward Thranduil, the motion wringing another groan from him. Everything hurt more than it should.  
"Where are you hurting, meleth nin?" Thranduil asked as he moved downward with Bard.  
"Thran, I can't." The embarrassment of his lover catching him in such a compromising position was enough to put Bard on the verge of tears. "I-I need to go but the pain is un...unbearable." Bard gasped from a sharp stabbing feeling in his lower abdomen, squeezing tears from his eyes.  
Thranduil's heart broke over Bard’s pain. "Let me help you," he offered, gently maneuvering Bard into a standing position again, bracing him with both hands from behind.  
"Thran, no, please," Bard pleaded, tears now steadily streaming from mortification and the agony of stretching his abdomen.  
"Bard." With that name, Bard knew Thranduil would not allow him to not follow his orders. His voice had changed into that of a monarch, one who cared for his wellbeing but would not take no for an answer.  
With a great sigh, Bard explained his predicament in a shaky, muted voice. "I- I work myself to the verge but it is bearable enough, but then as soon as I need to, my loins feel as if they are on fire, and the pain blocks anything from happening, and I will go mad surely if I cannot relieve myself!" Bard rambled on, so fast and jumbled that if it weren't for Thranduil's Elven hearing, he would have been able to catch only half. Thranduil knew the only thing to help his lover relieve himself was to add temporary pain, and while that wasn’t the least bit desirable, it was the only option.  
"Please look at me, love," Thranduil asked quietly, waiting until he met Bard's glistening eyes. He graced Bard with a light peck, rubbing soothing circles on his hips.  
"I need you to relax for me. This will be hard, but you must trust me. You must allow your body to go through this, or you will find yourself in a much darker place." Thranduil saw Bard's eyes widening, predicting his request and attempting to squirm out of the strong hold.  
"Bard, please." Thranduil exhaled. "Meleth nin, I need you to push through the pain as much as you can, and then push more. Then, and only then, will you be able to return to our warm bed. Does that not sound nice?" He did not try to bait the bowman, knowing he was not daft, but simply gave an incentive. And to Thranduil, Bard didn't seem like he could get much worse.  
"I can't. I can't do it, it won't work, I've tried –"  
"Try again," Thranduil implored, locking his ice blue ones with green hazel, "for me. Come now, the sooner the better you are out of pain."  
Finally the dragonslayer succumbed to his wishes. Bard scrunched his brows in concentration and focused on trying to relieve himself. But in the same instant, the pain came crashing down like a waterfall. Thranduil had anticipated this, and with his heart in his throat, he rubbed pressure just below Bard's navel.  
That was all the motivation Bard and his body needed to give him the relief denied for ages. A wail ripped through his throat, rocking Thranduil's very core. Bard lost his balance and would have fallen horribly if Thranduil hadn't steadied him. Thranduil held him through the ordeal, and once it was over, he wrapped the shaking bowman in his arms and carried him to their room.  
He reached their large bed, modified for Bard's wellbeing, and placed his lover amongst the arranged sheets. Thranduil knew Bard had succumbed to unconsciousness; the long and exaggerated toil had taken too much of the little energy he had.  
The Elven King sat next to his human lover, trying to control his thoughts. He attempted to direct his focus toward his care, but the wail cut through those thoughts like a knife in butter. Thranduil shuddered in the memory. With a heavy heart, he laid down next to Bard, resting his hand over the erratic heartbeat, feeling the clammy heat pouring off him like a furnace in the winter.  
After an hour of trying to forget the horrific experience, Thranduil remembered to give Bard the drought. He poured the cup from the kettle and brought it to the night stand. No attempts to rouse him worked. Thranduil felt rattled but remembered seeing a healer once use a trick to make a sleeping person drink.  
Carefully he brought the cup to Bard's parted lips and slowly poured the liquid in. Simultaneously he stroked Bard's swollen throat, forcing him to swallow. Little by little the tea went in, and Thranduil sat back with a sigh.  
How long had it been since Bard had been sick? Thranduil couldn't remember. It seemed it had lasted as long as his trip, almost from the start. The days of his smile were long gone, replaced by the fever.  
Long minutes went by undisturbed before he noticed Bard's slight twitching. Twitching?  
He looked closer and saw muscle tensing in the once relaxed face. Now Bard looked troubled even in his sleep. It moved gradually down into his arms, his fingers moving wildly beneath a rigid arm, only to have the two switch off. Then his shoulders turned this way and that, and his legs at the knees bent slightly.  
Thranduil knew that humans moved in their sleep. He was no stranger to Bard sleeping at night during a dream. But as soon as the Bard whimpered and groaned, he took it as a sign for the worst. He ran to his guards, called for Milui, and sat back to watch with growing dread.  
Not moments later, Milui came in. He came to the bed and took note of Bard's erratic pulse and breathing, his spasms.  
"Did you give him the drought, my Lord?"  
"I did, not a quarter past," Thranduil quickly replied.  
The first healer sat back, rubbing his temples. "Forgive me, but this is common with fevers in humans. They have lucid dreams, causing them to move about and mumble unconsciously. While it shouldn't hurt him, it keeps him away from us for longer, and that is never good."  
Thranduil was not so easily convinced. This wasn't like the sickness he had witnessed Tilda getting four summers ago, or the accounts Bard had told him of.  
"What if his dreaming worsens?"  
"I do not know," Milui replied honestly. He could see the anger that flashed in Thranduil’s eyes, but it was faint. And even though he had read every tome of medicine in Mirkwood in the past few days, Thranduil had a right to be angry. It was his lover. Milui could only remember a time before the Queen had died when the Elven King had smiled so easily.  
"There is not much I can do for him when he is in this state. But I will sit in and help him as much as I can." The first healer collected a cloth and fresh cold water in a pitcher. He went over to Bard's restless form and dabbed the cloth into the water. He brushed it across Bard's sweaty face, attempting to bring his temperature down to a reasonable heat. After a few minutes of that, Bard was still burning, so he lowered to sheets to Bard's abdomen so he could dab his chest in the cool water. It seemed to help somewhat, because Bard's twitching was reduced to a minimum, and his gasps for air leveled out.  
Sitting back with a sigh, Milui dropped the cloth back into the pitcher. He didn't know what else he could do. Bard hadn't been showing signs of improvement, instead he steadily got worse. He had tried various herbs in the drought he was given, along with faint herb traces in the water he dabbed onto Bard. He knew if Bard stayed in the fever dreams for too long, he might become unreachable.

~

Bard began to grunt in the bed, his head shifting furiously about the pillows. Thranduil looked up at the sudden noise, thinking it was going to be Bard waking up. Instead he saw half lidded eyes, and heard a sharp intake of breath from Milui, before seeing Bard's arms fly into the air.  
He waved them wildly about, bent at the elbow and loose in the hands, flailing about without regard. Then his legs began to shake, jumping up and down and swiveling around uncontrollably.  
"Bard!" Thranduil screamed, running to the bowman thrashing crazily on the bed.  
"Turn him on his side!" Thranduil heard Milui yelled, and he heard him bustling about behind him.  
Thranduil went to turn Bard onto his side, but he was socked in the jaw by a fist he never expected. Pain flared into his jaw, and Thranduil gasped but still tried to contain his bowman. He steered clear of the flailing fists and managed to roll Bard onto his side, just as Milui returned with a wad of a shirt to pillow under his head. Bard continued to jerk uncontrollably, back and forth, moving and moaning to his own accord.  
Thranduil freaked out, breathing fast and worry marring his features as he watched the body move on its own accord. The pain and scariness of how real this was becoming was too much for him, and before he knew it his world was darkening before his eyes, and he fell unceremoniously to the ground.

~

For a while he heard nothing. Thranduil floated in a void of nothingness, for he didn't know how long. Everything was dark, and he couldn't feel a thing. The time passing could have been seconds or years, much like time passes for an elf. But even he couldn't tell.  
But he soon heard faint sounds of voices reaching the void, along with rustles of movements, and faint breathing. He could smell the aroma of the herbs being brewed nearby, and the faint smell of nature and the crisp air of the Woodland Realm. And ever so slowly his eyes creaked open, to find him staring at the stone ceiling of his room. He could feel the softness of the silks and furs below him, and hear the rasps of breath beside him.   
He leaned his head back, finding Bard next to him. He looked terrible. He was paler than Thranduil himself, paler than anything the Elven King had ever seen. He also had ghastly bags under his eyes in purples of every shade, and flushed rosy cheeks that stood stark against his extreme paleness. His hair was thin and scraggly, his beard matching that. His skin looked old and worn, like it had been stretched out. He had lost weight, from what Thranduil could see. The cheeks had sunken in, his eyes farther set back looking sickly. The rest of his body, which momentarily was not covered by a blanket, had lost it's manliness as well. The legs were pale and thin, resembling more an old man's unusable legs rather than a young strong man's. His chest sunk in like his cheeks, leaving him in naught but skin and bones. Overall he looked awful.  
Thranduil swallowed thickly, but was stopped by the lump of emotion in the way. He tried to force his way past, but the emotion won and heat swelled inside him. Before he knew it he was fighting tears. He knew he had to stay strong for Bard in a time like this, but the pain became too much, and he gasped in grief. How could his wonderful bowman be reduced to this?  
Before he could allow himself to succumb to necessary waves of emotions, he heard footsteps coming from outside the corridor. He steeled himself from the pain, and the door swung wide to reveal Milui, with a tow of elvish healers behind him.   
"My Lord!" Milui exclaimed, thankful to see his King awake again. "How are you feeling?"  
Quite frankly, Thranduil had been so worried for Bard he barely noticed he felt more refreshed he had in days. But the pain he felt for Bard overwhelmed him again, and he steeled himself away from emotions once more.  
"I am fine." It came out no more than a cold whisper. "How is Bard?"  
A grave look came over the first healer, and he came and sat on the edge of the bed next to Bard. He brought a cloth and wiped it against Bard's sweaty brow, noting the intensity of the heat had not gone down.  
Thranduil had decided that after a few delays of silence, he had waited long enough. "How is Bard?" He asked again, this time with a lower pitch that would have sent young children running.  
Milui swallowed thickly before meeting the Kings eyes, showing the elf pain and sorrow and grief, showing him the hardships the first healer had endured trying to get Bard into a healthy state. He looked almost as bad as Bard, pale and shaking in anger for feeling he couldn't do enough to help the sick man, and confusion in how even though he had tried everything, nothing could rouse the man.  
Thranduil took that as his answer and it filled him with dread, more than he thought he could have after everything. He then tried a different approach.   
"I passed out didn't I? How long was I out for?"  
"4 days." Came the grave whisper.  
if Thranduil hadn't been sitting before the news, he surely would have made connection with the ground once more. 4 days his bowman had gone, unable to be reached, unresponsive, locked in his fever driven mind, going mad. It made the King sick to think about, and his stomach lurched at the thought. How had Bard been able to survive this long?  
"There is," Milui started, but was unable to finish, for he shivered at the thought.   
"What?" Thranduil asked impatiently.  
Milui continued with a pained expression. "We could attempt to force his tempt by more aggressive actions. it could do more harm than worth, but despite all I have tried nothing seems to work. This may be his last chance. I already fear the length of his fever has done permanent damage. But I would rather see him alive with complications than dead."  
Thranduil couldn't agree more, and as soon as he gave the word, the other healers bustled about preparing. Once finished, Thranduil gathered the light weight of the unconscious heating dragonslayer into the chamber pot, where the ice bath had been set up. he sat in a chair in the corner, and watched as the elves brought cold water and ice chunks from the cellars up swiftly, dumping them into the large bath tub in the center of the room. When they were finished, Thranduil stood with Bard, bringing him over to the edge of the tub.  
"I must warn you," Milui began, as the other healers laid out stacks of towels. "Forcing his temperature like this can be a very trying experience to a loved one. But you must trust that we have the best intentions in mind for him."  
Thranduil looked at the unconscious form of his lover, and his mind was made up. He would try everything for Bard. And the bowman knew that. And if he was able to respond, he would try as well.   
With the help of the first healer, Thranduil lowered Bard into the freezing depths of the water, icing himself from the reaction he feared. But it was not as he expected.  
As soon as Bard hit the water, his body thrashed, causing water to spill out everywhere and his eyes fly open. He started moaning and his eyes glistened in fever pain, the green almost grey in fever and weariness.   
"HOLD HIM DOWN" He heard Milui yell, and while Thranduil followed the command it pained him greatly. He could feel the heat boiling off the dragonslayer, and how he clawed at the sides of the tubs in attempts to get out.  
After a while, they pulled Bard out, and the Elven King instantly wrapped him in towels, covering his body with them. He tried to dry Bard off the best he could, and then sat on the floor with his lover, holding his breath. The first healer came over, checking on Bard, his vitals and temperature. Long moments passed before Milui sighed deeply, and hung his head.  
"He must go through it again." Thranduil heard the whisper.   
Thus began the process of submerging Bard over and over again into the freezing water. Each time, Bard thrashed and moaned, sometimes mumbling, and sometimes producing weak words. He called out to Thranduil twice, and it took the Elven King all he had not to break down right then and there. There were also a few times where the aggravation it sent on his body caused blood and infection from his lungs to come rushing up, and that caused more problems that it was worth.   
Overall it was torture. To Bard's body, and to everyone in the room enduring the painful experience. Some of the healers had begun to silently cry as they aided the sick body. Milui had a steady stream of tears running down his face as well. To them it hurt because of the act, but it hurt more because they could remember a time when bard was healthy, and witty, and sarcastic. They could remember when he would help them carry new shipments of herbs when they came in, or come and talk to some hurt elves while the healers were needed elsewhere. They most importantly could remember the smile on their King's face whenever Bard was around, how he sometimes didn't even smile as bright for the Queen.   
But the King did not have any tears shed in this escapade. He couldn't allow himself to feel it, not yet. He became a stone, machine even, going through the motions of torture but not feeling any of it. He could feel Bard every time not fight back as strong, sense the life in his body leave him more so every time they put him in the cold bath. But he could not feel it. He was not ready for it.   
After going through the torture many times, Milui pulled back with a resigned sigh, seeing the slightly shivering, blood coated mouth of Bard on the floor, pale and weak, gasping for breath. He couldn't do it anymore for his sake.  
One of his younger healers noticed his reluctance to continue, and shouted in outrage.  
"We cannot stop now! Lord Bard will die!"  
"He will die much sooner if we keep dunking him in the frigid water!" Milui yelled back, sobbing in earnest now. "At least allow Thranduil to spend his last few moments with Bard in peace and ease." He finished in a whisper.  
It became very real in that moment to Thranduil. He heard the words, he could see the signs in the limp body he was holding. He still did not feel, but he could see that no matter how much he tried to avoid it, it was the end.  
He knew what he must do.  
With that, he stood with the light shivering weight of the bowman in his arms, and made his way through the open doors of the bathing chambers, and out into the halls beyond his chambers.  
"My Lord!" Milui exclaimed, hurrying after his King. But from no response he got, Milui could tell this was something Thranduil must do alone. And with that, he knelt onto the floor of the King's chambers, fingers grasping the ends of the floor, balling into fists as he hung his head in shame. It was all he could do to not rip it apart. Instead he stained the plush carpet with tears.

~

The wind was cold and dry, unforgiving in its nature as it whipped through Thranduil’s hair. The soft crunch of his footsteps was hollowed out by the stuttering breaths of the cold form in his arms. The farther the elf went into the forest, the more it closed around him, lamenting his journey and offering comfort.  
Thranduil kept walking despite pleas from his guards to come back in and the wind churning about dangerously outside, foreshadowing a storm. But he did not listen. He couldn't hear anyone. Everything felt distant.  
He traveled further into the depths of the dark forest until the trees gave way into a plain, branches not yet touching at the top, and he lowered the dragonslayer in the circlet of small light coming from the moon.  
It was their spot. The dense trees, the quiet rustle of the water around them, the whistle of the wind. The trees, not quite touching, were cast in a dark purple beneath the starless sky. It was as if it also mourned. Perhaps the forest felt what Thranduil knew he should feel. It ached with remorse, the branches curving inwards. It hurt Thranduil to look, so he directed his gaze to the bowman.  
The journey took its toll on Bard. He was weak and withered, frail and bony. Darkness shrouded him and put a haze over the man’s features. His sunken eyes looked black against his starchy skin, and the blood covering his mouth looked like oil, thick and heavily smeared.  
A gasp startled him out of his fever, and Thranduil watched Bard struggling to keep himself together. Weary hazel eyes opened and met his blue, looking tired and muddled.  
"Thrand-" Bard started, but coughs soon overtook him, and blood and mucus filled his throat. He tried to expell it, but evermore came rushing in.  
Thranduil could see the torment in his eyes, but mostly there was fear.  
"Keep coughing, love, you will breathe again soon," Thranduil told Bard.  
Bard seemed to regain enough control to fall limply in the Elven King's arms, staring at him blankly until a crooked smile graced his lips.  
"You always were the brightest star I had ever seen," Bard said, and something chipped in Thranduil. "My hero. You came to me when I had nothing, and let me see everything with you." He raised a pale shaking hand to touch Thranduil’s, the light pawing motion breaking more of this precious thing inside , and Thranduil hurriedly grasped the shaking hand.  
"You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen that day in the forest," Bard continued to rasp out, slurred by the collecting blood. His palm opened, and he smoothed Thranduil’s cheek, wearing the ridiculous grin that Thranduil so dearly loved, even if it was a weak one.  
"You still are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." It was true. Even though Thranduil’s hair was a mess, his clothing bunched, his eyes red and tired, bags under them. He looked awful, but Bard thought the moonlight still lit Thranduil up like a thousand lightning bugs.  
But when Bard began to quiver more feverishly and the fluid flowed from his mouth in a constant trickle, Thranduil could feel the end coming. He knew Bard could tell as well.  
"Do not fight it, my love. The pain will ease, and I will be here for you." Thranduil somehow found his voice, despite a cresting wave that threatened to choke him. "I love you, Bard." His voice stuttered, and the forest surrounding felt it as the earth rumbled. "I always have. I will never forget you, I will always love you, and I will always remember you. Your memory will live with me, and I will remember your smile. The curl of your voice around your words, the softness of your touch, the beauty of your smile..." Here Thranduil trailed off, unable to keep a steady tone.  
Bard gently tapped Thranduil’s, and the elf looked back to him.  
"You will go on," Bard said with a determined look.  
"Bard, I-"  
"You will.” The firm answer came from the bowman, followed by a cough. After regaining his breath, he said, "It is unfair for the world to not hear your ringing laugh. Promise me you will smile again."  
Thranduil could barely suppress a sob which sounded heavy and wrong coming from the Elven King. He swallowed thickly and looked away, but gentle fingers prodded him to meet his gaze again.  
"I love you, Thranduil. You will, for me." Then, as if on cue, Bard wheezed for breath, but only intakes of breath. His mouth trickled helplessly.  
Thranduil knew there were tears streaming down his face, but he couldn't acknowledge them. He could read Bard’s fear as he knew he couldn't breathe.  
"Bard." It came out in a whisper, "Let go. I love you. Please let go."  
His pain was too much for Thranduil to bear, and if he had known of any solution to Bard's fever he would have told him to hold on. The hope that once was there was lost.  
Bard settled then, staring into Thranduil's eyes unwaveringly as his last breaths came to him. Short pants wracked his body, and with a final intake, he swallowed too much blood and choked. But by then, Bard's body was so withered that he succumbed to it immediately until he was simply a frozen, faintly beating form.  
Thranduil counted the beats, feeling them pulse under his hand on Bard's chest and thrum through his fingers on his neck. He counted for what seemed only seconds before Bard managed a weak, genuine smile, and his head rolled back.  
The silence was deafening.   
Then a cry pierced the air, long and loud, inhumane, and the forest cried out with it. The leaves turned inward and browned, falling to the forest ground. The winds picked up and howled in the night, rolling over mountains in the distance, echoing down the valleys. The moon’s light blistered through the opening of the circle, forcing them apart, watching the sorrowful scene below, and never allowing the branches to curve towards the other sides again.

~

He had been told it had been 6 days since the disappearance of the king and Bard. When he arrived, the elves were pale and fragile, not meeting his eyes. He demanded to know what had happened to them, but no one met his eye. Not even Tauriel.  
With no guidance from the elves, he set off into the forest. His instincts told him from the grave looks of the elves, something fell had happened to the pair. But he refused to dwell on that, wanting to find the answer before worrying himself.  
He followed the dense of trees along a path he knew well where he could find his answers. If Thranduil and Bard had fled into the forest, he knew where to find them. But before he reached it, the clouded skies erupted into water. It made his tracking more difficult, but it didn't dissuade him.  
He made haste to the edge of the trees in the clearing, but he stopped along the threshold and was taken back by the scene. There sat Thranduil, in the circle of trees with rain pouring down him. Although, it wasn't the Thranduil he could remember. The face was exempt of any emotion, pale and sunken in with hair plastered to his face. It almost looked dirty clinging to his starch white skin, but he wasn't moving. He was worse than a statue, the hand held to his face grasping another's, oblivious to the rain pouring off him. The eyes were empty and motionless, the normally vivid blue looking grey and hollow, stagnant.  
Then he looked to the object in Thranduil's arms, and audibly gasped at the sight. There laid Bard. The parlor of his skin was beyond even Thranduil's, making him look like a corpse against the sunken features of his face. He could tell Bard had lost ample amount of weight, the clothes wet and hanging off him. But the blood covering him and some of Thranduil was dark and murky, trickling with the rain and staining more of their clothes. The un-moving nature of both, and their deathly looks led him to the only conclusion.  
Bard was dead.  
A gasp resounded within him and he staggered back, grabbing the bark of the tree for support. And then the pain hit him. Memories of Bard helping the people of Dale to safety as he watched, memories of archery practices with him, memories of him trying to out drink the elf but becoming face flat drunk and silly as he stumbled around claiming he won, memories of his adar smiling brighter than ever before in his presence.  
Memories of a corpse drenched in blood.  
He surged forward into the clearing, and he got closer to the clearing when the rain returned with a fury. It poured out of the skies and soaked the lands but he moved forward until he stood but a few paces in front of the sad sight. He thought his movements would have stirred something in the Elven King, but the gaze was as empty as it was when he first saw them in the woods.  
"Ada?" A quiet voice spoke.  
No response.  
"Ada? What happened?" Legolas asked, louder with more force.  
Still no answer. There wasn't even a twitch of a movement coming from Thranduil.  
"Ada!" Legolas shouted, yet it proved futile again.  
The closer up he was, the more ghastly the pair looked, and Legolas could confirm Bard was dead. The un-moving chest was clear enough to Legolas, and it all made sense now. Thranduil had a nasty habit for becoming cold when the pain hit him too hard. He remembered how he isolated himself when his mother died.  
Legolas reached for Bard in Thranduil's arms, trying to separate them so he could bring the Elven King back, but as soon as he touched the body a low growl vibrated from Thranduil. It was deep, raspy, and all too convincing and it made Legolas shift back and look into his father's eyes.  
He yelped at what he saw and fell onto his butt as he stared into the gaze of his father. The blood shot eyes were bright and horrifying, looking animalistic in the way they slanted as they looked straight through Legolas. He was horrified by the blank and threatening gaze, with no recognition of who he was.  
Using confidence he knew didn't come from himself, he shifted forward again to reach out for Bard to only receive a snarl and an advance of Thranduil. As soon as he saw Legolas making the move to touch Bard, he lowered the body to be behind him, and he crawled over it towards Legolas snarling and advancing towards his retreating frame.  
To say Legolas was concerned and scared was an understatement. Never had he seen any being lose their mind to the point of animalistic possession. Yet his father, The Elven King of Mirkwood was prowling over Bard's body like a mother tiger over her cubs. The figure moved so close to legoals's crouched form against the forest floor that when it stopped less than a breaths distance was between them.  
This close had Legolas shaking, looking into his father's deadly eyes. No, an animal’s eyes. The empty grey pools were red rimmed and deserted, but full of anger. Remorse filled the younger elf, and he could feel the hurt his father was trying to repress.  
He could not let himself drown in misery and block it out like this.  
"Ada?" Legolas tried again, but the cold eyes didn't change in the slightest.  
Legolas took a deep breath. "I know you can hear me Ada. I know you don't want to face this, but you need to. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you actually feel it."  
It was then that Legolas could see a difference. Albeit a slow one, but a change in demeanor. The gaze became less threatening. The tension in the crouched stance became comfortable. The brows unfurrowed, and the fingers unclenched.  
And after slow, agonizing minutes of anxious watching, Legoals saw it all crumble. The emotions that ravaged the once motionless face scared Legolas more than the animal. The raw pain, outlined by regret and confusion, with pain and suffering, all swimming in the eyes that became more pale, and the brows that furrowed, and the lip that quivered.  
Then he saw the recognition in the eyes, and wonder.  
"Legolas?" It came out no more than a whisper.  
"Ada." Legolas sighed, and reached forward to grasp Thranduils forearm as an anchor.  
"Why are you home?" It came out harsher than expected, but Thranduil could tell. "Forgive me, it is wonderful to see you, Greenleaf. But why are we here? Where is Bard?"  
It was a simple question, one the Elven King had a right to wonder about. Nowadays, Thranduil never did anything without his dragonslayer. But Legolas wasn't prepared for the weight of it, and it hurt. Without being able to stop Himself, he glanced over thranduils shoulder to the corpse.  
Thranduil saw his son looking behind him, and he looked as well. The sight that met him wasn't one that could register. The lifeless body was not how he remembered the vivacious Bard.  
But suddenly, he did remember.  
The pain emitting from his father was more palpable than being submerged on water. He watched as the Elven King fought within himself for a brief moment, and the emotions won. With a strained face he crawled towards the body of Bard and raised a hand to his face.  
Thranduil recoiled at the touch, finding ice instead of heat from the skin. He let the image sink in, and with more nerves than he believed he had, he reached out again, but to Bard's chest. The strong chest felt weak and pruned through the wet clothes and rain. And it remained that way, with no beat.  
The Elven King's hands shook as he reached a hand to trace the outline of a sunken cheek.  
"Bard?" Thranduil whispered, and Legolas gasped at hearing the faint hope and strong denial of his father's words, and silent tears streamed down his face.  
The hope Thranduil fished for futilely was squashed by the oncoming flow of memories of the days leading to their disappearance. The sickness, the seizure, the torture... It all came like a wave crashing down on Thranduil, and he began to sob in earnest.  
"No no no no No NO no no n-no n-n-no," Legolas heard his father mumble, and he moved around the side to be closer. He was met with a sight he had never seen. His father, The Grey King, known for his cold demeanor, was crying in earnest now, mumbling like a drunk man.   
Thranduil grasped at the side of Bard's head, And the other grasped a frail hand while his body heaved with the pain. He felt as though he had been pierced with an arrow, the shaft slowly opening him from the inside out, letting his life slowly bleed out of him. Bard was his life. There wasn't a way he could avoid it, and he had thought he wouldn't have had to deal with this for years to come.  
There were so many things he wished he could have done with Bard. So many places in middle earth to visit, so many seasons to sit and watch change the nature, so many awful counseling meetings in Erebor, so many boat rides in the Rhun on warm afternoons, so many early mornings of love-  
He lowered his head to Bard's chest and cried his heart out. The rain pouring down his back didn't help him. He felt dirty, knowing the days he sat out here as a statue had left him cold, hungry, disgusting, and a widow again.  
Wails pierced the air, and the emotions he was feeling turned into anger as he thought on the cruelty on the situation. How could the valar condemn a life of such little time, when he was more worthy than any other of the time in middle earth? How could they let Bard suffer needlessly, when his life had been naught but struggles?  
Legolas watched as his father gained his footing, and screamed into the heavens elvish and dwarvish curses as they rained upon him. He cursed them for their wrong choice, for their ignorance, for them never giving Bard a chance at a full human life. What even was a human life, in terms of an elf's? Thranduil would give anything to trade his immortality with Bard's mortality; the man alone was more pure than any of the gems Thranduil had ever coveted. He cursed the valar for his own fate, leaving him in a world where his unadulterated love was shattered repeatedly. His parents, his wife, now Bard... The tombstones piled upon each other and the weight poured down onto Thranduil, and he fell ungracefully to the grass next to the corpse. He felt drained, and he faintly wondered if Bard was the final straw. If the last bit of him had left with Bard.  
Legolas watched with a sinking stomach how his father went mad. How he stood and cursed and angrily threw his fists and screamed, throaty accusations being cast everywhere. The anger was palpable, and fell along the clearing in a blanket of sorrow and despair. But as soon as it began, it stopped. Legolas saw his father kneeling in the grass beside Bard, motionless again.  
He crept closer until he was right in front of him, tears constantly running down his face. "Ada?"  
The pale blue, almost grey eyes looked to his face, and he could see the emptiness in them, but faintly fear. And Legolas knew what kind of fear it was.  
Before he could say anything else, the Elven King lunged forward and wrapped Legolas in a bruising embrace, shuddering and gasping by his ear. Mumbled words were attempted, but Legolas couldn't make them out. All he knew was the body against his was crumbling and his hold was tightening in fear, and Legolas wrapped his arms around his father. Quiet pleas reached his ears.  
"Please do not leave me, I could not bear it." Thranduil sounded like a child, lost and lonely, afraid and with no hope. H pulled away and locked gazes with his father who was struggling to stay upright with so much emotion.  
"Please Legolas." He couldn't remember a time his father had ever said please. "I can't lose you too." Came the frail whisper.  
It all fell into place. Legolas recalled all the deaths his father had lined up in his history, and he lost all he had of his wits. He sobbed and grabbed Thranduil, hugging him and pulling him close, saying I'm not going anywhere, I love you Ada, I'm so sorry, I'm still here.  
Thranduil cried against his sons hair, feeling like a vase missing the flowers. The vase is nothing without the beauty of the flowers, useless and ignored. Bard was his flower, and he couldn't do without him. Not after everything that had happened to him. He went with what he knew best, and latched onto the only thing he had left of him.  
"Legolas ion-nin." He sobbed against Legolas and poured his feelings into the air around them.  
"Do not leave me." Came the whisper again, and the sky continued to pour its despair onto the two destroyed elves and corpse.

~ Epilogue ~

If it was by luck or sheer brutality, Legolas didn't know. But he was glad he had forced Thranduil to attend Bard's funeral regardless of how he felt. The older elf had been more than remote in the past month, refusing anyone who dared talk to him. He wouldn't even talk to Legolas. It was as if out of the clearing he became even more detached than he had ever been as Elven King, being especially cruel to his subjects and remote from his advisers. Everyone knew of the tragedy, how could they miss the Grey King, battered and broken, carrying a bloody corpse through the walls, with a horrible excuse for a prince following him? No one dared to take Bard from Thranduil, and he took the corpse to a lower level of the palace where they could be alone. Once Legolas knew there was no way of talking to his father, he went to Tauriel, and she allowed him a shoulder to lean onto as he cried in despair for Bard and his father. No one in Eryn Galen was safe from the pain that day.

Despite Thranduil's steel exterior, Legolas knew better. But it wasn't until he was feeling well enough himself that he went to see if Thranduil was holding up alright. He felt guilty for his absence, but he knew the days immediately following the death, Thranduil wouldn't talk. Not even to his son. It wasn't until a week after his return that he went searching for Thranduil.

He had seen him in court of course. No incident could excuse the absence of a king and prince, but he went looking for when Thranduil thought no one was watching him. He wasn't sure what he expected to find. but it wasn't the scene that was upon him that was for sure. He spied through a web of tree branches how Thranduil sat on his bed, holding a shirt of Bard's. It was the one they wore on their bonding day. Thranduil had worn one in blues that matched his eyes, chunks of sapphires lining the seams and shoulders in swirling elvish patterns that brought out the light in him. Bard had been wearing an opposite of that, a white shirt with crystals in an array of lines and swirls, dancing over his tanned complexion and making him stand out and glow just as brightly ad Thranduil did, without the Elven help. 

It churned Legolas's stomach, thinking that was the happiest day of Thranduil's life, and now he used it as a memory.

Then without warning, Thranduil began to cry, sobbing and holding the shirt to his face as his cold exterior fell from him. The motions reminded Legolas too much of the clearing. It was all too fresh, and with tears leaking from his eyes he fled, unable to watch the heartbreaking scene more. 

After Legolas believed it would be good to put Bard's memory to rest, and hold the funeral. But when he brought it up to his father, he screamed at Legolas and fled to his rooms. He wasn't ready.

It was close to 3 weeks later that Legolas finally pulled Thranduil out of hiding and to the session set for Bard. Majority of Dale, along with all of the elves in Mirkwood stood in lament for the King of Men upon a casket in the middle of the clearing. Legolas had requested it there, knowing that even if Bard could not see it through the eyes of his human body, he could still view Thranduil in the one spot of light he so desperately loved to see him in. Even though he knew Thranduil would likely never venture to the spot again.

The session was short and rather silent; the only people who spoke were his children. They stood all around, all of them young adults now, and spoke of Bard's past, his drive, his sense of life and vitality and how he had hope even when there wasn't anything to give hope to. Then they fled as soon as it was over, the emotions becoming too much. Legolas went and said few words of grace, but they felt hollow, devoid of life. Mechanical. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he sat down soon after.

If anyone expected the King to make a statement, they were disappointed. The cold face was unreadable as it kept a staring contest with the ground through the entirety of the speeches. Legolas would have been appalled by the behavior, if he didn't know how much he actually cared. The care could be seen by the immense weight of the necklace of Girion hanging from his neck, the emeralds bright and shining as most of the people's eyes at the service.

But by the end of the speeches, and when everyone went to mingle, Thranduil walked alone to the casket. Legolas watched with trepidation as Thranduil reached into the casket. He was worried his father would attempt to fall into the casket and try to seal his fate with Bard's wising himself away. But he was even more worried when the stoic face broke, and you could see the hands were braiding bits of the hair on the corpse. Legolas ascended the steps on the pyre built for him and stood next to Thranduil, admiring the handiwork. The small elvish braids were adorned on the side of Bard's temples. similar to his own, except thicker and stopped halfway to let the natural curl Legolas knew Thranduil love so much have it's free will.

The silent tears were only noticed by the faint drip o the casket, and while there was quiet murmuring going on before he had stood next to the pyre, now there was silence. The gatherers were in awe of the king, and in pain. Millennia of a reputation with no emotion, to become broken in minutes, took their breath away. Legolas wasn't without tears either, and it seemed as if they never ended these days. But he knew his pain was naught in comparison to his fathers. He could tell how uncomfortable it was for Thranduil to be out of control of his own body, his emotions warring inside him and to be put on such a display. 

He grasped his father’s pale hand and squeezed it, until the watery eyes turned to his.

"I will not leave you." Legolas said determinedly, and he fully intended to keep that promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys, I really enjoyed writing this! (while also getting really sad) If you liked it, leave a kudos or comment. If you want to tell me I'm a horrible person for writing this, that's fine too :)


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